The shadow on that wall is yours. It doesn’t have your physical vigour but I can read that pristine mind; The clearness of vision, the strength of understanding, the precision of thought.

Don’t look at me like that. Yes, I am mindful of what had transpired between us last night. I can still sense your leap from the corner of our room. The rest as they say is history, buried peacefully in my recesses.

You called me a lousy dreamer. That we all are. We all are weaving magical dreams. Its just that the fabric is different and the art copyrighted.

He kept walking promising himself at each step, the state of emotions that he desired. But then discontentment is addictive … one despises it .. grows tired of its capers but some where deep down loves its quarrelsome nature like a man in love with a termagant.

Discontentment is deep rooted in desires. “Desires … Bah!”, he thought. And he kept walking further and further towards the prairie. The beauty bogged him down. The landscape humbled him and he wondered, how could all that was troubling him could have troubled him so much. Inconsequential. And he lighted another pack ….